This week, freshly in from America, our Acting Country Director Ben Chapman asked simply, “which volunteers see the fewest visitors?” And with this knowledge as a blazing shield, and his former PC Kazakhstan service as his sword of comfort, Mr. Chapman followed our Safety and Security officer on her oblast by oblast tour penetrating deep into the heart of Sunny Naryn.
Ben was a volunteer’s volunteer. He honed his Russian ten years ago in Kazakhstan, and doesn’t seem like he’s lost it. Our Safety and Security officer had arranged meetings for us with the Mayor, Governor, and local police. During each of these meetings, he charmed folks with his effortless language, and tickled the cops enough that they insisted on a big group photo when it was all said and done.
At the end of his time here, he took us all out to dinner, sat with us, talked with us, and finally observed, “they say Naryn is the harshest part of Kyrgyzstan to serve. But you all clearly are in great spirits.” (An understatement.) “What I have noticed, working with PC as long as I have, is that volunteers who have it easy are often the least satisfied with their service. But the ones who are really working to stick it out, they are the ones who come home the happiest.”
Gosh, I sure wish all of you could have meetings like this with your bosses.
I do wonder though, when will all this tough talk about Naryn materialize? Maybe when the temperature drops to -40º this winter?
But in the meantime folks, I’ve had not one, but three “guesting” experiences this week.
Guesting, you see, is something a little more than coming over to visit. I’ve gone into grand detail up on the website about one encounter, and I’ll give you a brief taste here:
The tables are always set to look like still life paintings from Renaissance art. Dramatic fruit displays in cut glass bowls, salads, breads and syrupy jams. Generally, the events go late into the night.
During the first one this week, we had Kyrgyz friends in from Naryn and Moscow. They arrived around eight, and my dad wasn’t to be home until midnight. So (for the first time) I was invited to the table, and given the job of pressing the booze. So, between accusations that I was a spy and questions about how much things cost in America, I refilled shot glasses and insisted on toasts.
The second was a birthday party for a neighbor. These folks had hosted a volunteer before, and conversation was a little more laid back: my work here, Kyrgyz vs. American culture, silly stories. When toast time came here, I recited a long, poetic series of blessings my tutor had me memorize. These folks were very impressed, quietly repeating some of the prettier lines to themselves. This in stark contrast from the first time my family heard this, when all they replied was, “Gee! How much do you drink?”
The final visit this week involved my Dad dropping off a car he bought at his family’s house in the village. This event, exciting enough for a letter on its own, culminated as I was chowing down on tomatoes, while my Kyrgyz compatriots demolished minced meat, carrots and onions all jellied together with ground horse hooves and cow skulls. How’s that for a difference in palate?
Anyway, it’s been a long letter folks, I hope I haven’t bored you.
Originally Written September 14th, 2009
